


I Will Not Break You

by Naemi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angsty thoughts, Desperate Behavior, Drama, Dubious Consent, Hurt Isaac, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mean Scott, Mindfuck, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 19:25:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naemi/pseuds/Naemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac keeps pushing until he's pushed in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Not Break You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moit/gifts).



> [set in season 3]

 

It's wrong, utterly wrong, but Scott doesn't know how to stop it, stop him. He just stares, sees Isaac's lips move, knows he's talking, but there's no sorting out the words, not with that tone. Not with the boy's wide-eyed plea—and for what exactly is yet unclear—with the way he throws, launches, himself at Scott under a constant murmur of _please_.

Scott tries to take a step back, not necessarily because he wants Isaac out of his personal space, but rather to try and gain a distance of mind, to understand what is going on. Instead, he finds himself gently cupping Isaac's chin, tilting his head back up when he buries it in the crook of Scott's neck, instinctively sensing it wasn't the best decision to make.

Isaac's eyes light up, not beta bright, but close. His bottom lip quivers as he inhales, slowly, deeply, and the thought that he is scenting Scott thoroughly makes it even harder to focus, to say no to this absurdity. There's no time anyway, for Isaac kisses him, and it's weird, it's really, really not okay, although it is. It's all softness and affection and Scott's head starts spinning with an arousal he doesn't think he should feel, not for a guy, not for his _friend_ , most certainly not in such a confusing situation. But he's just a teenager, all right. Isaac smells of warmth and home and family; Scott gives in, kisses him back, and it's only when Isaac's hushed sighs against his lips turn into throaty moans that Scott realizes they're both inappropriately hard against each other's thighs, a little out of breath, and definitely way too close to ruining their friendship forever.

Scott pushes Isaac back, and receives a long, drawn-out whimper in response.

“This is wrong.” He instantly curses himself for being so inconsiderate because Isaac flinches as if he’s been physically attacked.

“Don't say that,” Isaac replies in a half-whisper, his voice shaking just enough to reveal his pain. “Please, don't . . . I am sorry—” but he doesn't give up just yet. His hand crawls up Scott's front and to the back of his neck, nudging him closer again, and at the same time, Isaac cracks a smile, faint, insecure, but definitely there, definitely begging. “It's okay.”

It isn't, “It's _wrong_.” Scott wriggles free, finally taking that one step back that would have prevented all this nonsense had he just been smart enough to follow his instincts right away. “I'm sorry. I really, really don't want to hurt you, but we can't . . . we can't do this. It's _not_ okay.”

Isaac snorts, looking so much like a former rebel that Scott's positive whatever comes next is going to be snarky and ugly, but boy, is he mistaken. He could have handled a fight. He cannot, however, handle Isaac closing the distance and falling to his knees, sobbing, clinging to him, rubbing his face into Scott's thigh.

“Isaac,” Scott says, trying for reason, yet feeling so troubled that his voice cracks. He clears his throat, tries again.

“Isaac, listen. This is stupid. You don't even—”

“I do. I'm good, I promise I'll be good, just don't, don't send me away, please, I need you. I need you, Scott. I'll be good, I promise. I love you—” and with those last three words, Isaac looks back up, tears running down his cheeks now. For the fraction of a stuttering heartbeat, it seems as if his outburst is over; he's preternaturally still, holding his breath, probably wishing he hadn't crossed that line—but he has, and there's no taking it back, so he repeats it, blushes, repeats it a third time when Scott shakes his head.

“I do. It doesn't matter, it's just—I'll do anything, Scott, anything to please you. I'm a good boy, I'm good. I can be good enough for you. Just give me a chance. Let me . . . Give me a chance. I'll be good, I promise.”

Scott's heart clenches with Isaac's desperation, and his whole body shivers when the boy begins undoing Scott's fly. Isaac keeps rambling, interrupted by hiccuped sobs, and murmurs into Scott's crotch. He mouths his length through the fabric, and if that isn't wrong, nothing is; if that isn't killing Scott, he can survive everything.

Again, he tilts Isaac's head back, surprised that the boy obliges, and means to be firm, honestly means to throw Isaac out of his room before too much harm is done—but it's done anyway, and maybe it's the hormones, maybe it's simply Scott being incapable of denying a friend in need, however bizarre the situation. Either way, when Isaac looks at him with those incredibly blue eyes of his, beautifully darkened, when he whispers another soft, “Please, let me show you how good I can be,” Scott can't help pulling him up and into a kiss.

It's hasty, it's rough, and Isaac immediately takes it as the invitation it is, shoves a hand into Scott's boxers. He strokes him, once, twice, then he breaks the kiss, sinks back down, murmurs another, content, “I'll do everything for you,” as he rids Scott of his jeans and boxers, sucking him in the very second the fabric is out of the way.

A heavy groan comes over Scott's parted lips, dying in a shaky breath, because oh boy, who ever taught Isaac to give head definitely knew his subject. In a corner of his mind, the voice of reason still fidgets and flails, but with the heat of Isaac's mouth, with the way his long lashes flutter, half-hiding his eyes that are fixed on Scott's face, there's no chance in the world for it to be heard. It's simply too beautiful, all of this, too damned hot to be denied further. Still, he makes one last attempt at preventing the unpreventable downfall of What We Used To Be.

“You don't have to,” Scott rasps out, can't get any further, for Isaac's tongue swirls around the tip of his cock ever-so-lightly, trails down his length lazily and, “God, oh my God, this feels so good,” all decency is wiped out when Isaac sucks at Scott's balls for way too briefly before he reverses his actions until taking Scott's cock back inside his mouth as deeply as he possibly can.

It's _almost_ mind-twisting, _almost_ too good for Scott to last longer than a minute or two which, God forbid, would be severely embarrassing after all the fighting he put up (but who is he trying to fool, Isaac would _love_ him break so easily now, would probably laugh his ass off, if only secretly). So, he clenches his teeth and tries to focus on the least sexy thing imaginable, but continues to find himself helpless in the face of Isaac's eagerness, incapable of maintaining enough willpower to regain even the slightest bit of control.

 _It's true,_ he thinks, stunned, because it never occurred to him before. _It's true that the bottom is in charge._ He never felt quite that way with Allison, but then, she wasn't very experienced and rather concerned she did it “right.” Isaac, however, clearly knows what he's doing because he responds to every moan and whimper with spine-tingling eagerness. Whether that's because he's a guy or because he really gained proficiency somewhere, Scott can't decide; the question forms in his mind as Isaac brings his teeth into the mix, the lightest scraping, only once, but it causes Scott to rock his hips forward, thrusting into Isaac's mouth, and the boy opens wide, hums with satisfaction even though his breath is almost cut off for one awkward moment.

Isaac drags his lips back up Scott's cock until they barely stretch around the tip anymore, sucks down hard on the sensitive flesh once again, and with a _pop_ , he withdraws, his ragged breath barely cooling the place where he had just caused such a delightful amount of _ohmygod_ as a firm hand replaces that skilled mouth.

“What do you want?” he asks, sounding so beautifully hoarse with arousal that his voice alone is nearly enough to get Scott off now.

Although he tries, really tries hard to say something smart (or at least tell him to keep fucking going), Scott's own voice lost him somewhere, and all that comes out is the most pathetically pleading whimper, full of need and want and _defeat_.

Isaac smirks, and wipes it into the softness that is the skin of Scott's upper thigh, but he's too complacent this time. It triggers an unknown defiance in Scott, an unwillingness to be played by someone else's rules; he's had enough of that, thank you. It's only a spark, but it's enough to snap him back into reality.

Scott urges Isaac back, and he eagerly obliges, mouth following the up-and-down of his hand. The smugness in his eyes is suddenly extinguished by fear when Scott digs his hands into his hair, holding him firmly in place as he thrusts his hips forward.

“You think this is funny?” he groans, his words accompanied by an even harder thrust, amusement creeping into his chest at the way Isaac's heartbeat falters, how he tries to back away from the sudden roughness. Scott's aware how wrong this just got, how out of hand, but he can't bring himself to care. He's not a toy, for christsakes, and if Isaac believes so, he needs to be put in his place. Scott is the alpha. Scott makes the rules.

“You think you can play me?”

If Scott wasn't so close, he might have stopped right then, but as it is, he keeps fucking Isaac's mouth, every choked sob, every flail of hands and scratch of nails—not claws, which genuinely surprises Scott—another turn-on until he crosses the edge. He sincerely doesn't mean to hurt or humiliate Isaac further—being a little angry doesn't equal being sadistic, after all—but despite his intention, no warning comes over his lips. He only lets go the very moment he comes hard down Isaac's throat, satisfied even more when the tears are back in those bright blue eyes.

Instead of retreating when he finally can, Isaac only moves when Scott nudges him. He slowly drags his lips up the cock in his mouth, making sure not to miss one drop, slides up and off, sits back on his heels, watching Scott through moist lashes.

For a long moment, nothing happens but two heartbeats trying to slow.

“Thank you,” Isaac says, and where there's been complacency before, there's satisfaction left, despite the irregular heaving of his chest, despite the blush and the tears and the tremble of his hands.

Scott despises it. Not him, just the situation. He can't help it. Looking down, he sees the most obedient puppy, broken by his own twisted sense of self-esteem. Or lack thereof. Even though Scott is perfectly aware of his own role in it (and yes, he's developed a better knowledge of the boy's past than he thinks he deserves to have), it doesn't make much of a difference; if Scott had denied him, Isaac would have found someone else to bleed him.

Frowning, Scott turns away, ignores the hushed whimper Isaac makes. His anger, admittedly directed at both of them, fades, washed away with the last, post-orgasmic waves, until there's nothing left but fatigue, and the question of how they could have sunk so low. He finishes undressing quickly, happy to shed the smell of failure, and crashes on his bed. As he turns out the bedside lamp, he risks a glance, noticing Isaac still hasn't moved.

And Isaac remains still. Would probably have stayed right in place all night, but—

“Isaac?”

A soft hum.

“This is never going to happen again, okay?” Scott says slowly, keeping his voice even.

“Okay.”

“I mean it. I will never again have you humiliate yourself that way, or make me do it for you.”

“I understand,” Isaac whispers, but Scott is quite positive he doesn't; he can smell the desperation. It still surrounds the boy like another identity.

“I'm not sure you do.” Scott shifts. “Come here, will you?”

It takes a moment until Isaac complies; he drags himself over, sits down on the edge of the bed hesitantly. The faint moonlight creeping in through the curtains illuminates him just enough for Scott to see that his eyes are closed, lips pressed into a thin line. He reaches out, trails his fingertips down Isaac's side, and sits up behind him, nuzzling his face into Isaac's neck.

“I will not break you ever again,” Scott says firmly, his lips kissing the words onto Isaac's skin. “But if you mean it, truly mean it . . .”

“I do.”

“Then let me treat you the way you deserve it. Let me love you back.”

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the wonderful **Moit** , who also made sure that all characters were returned unharmed.
> 
> [Feedback is love.]


End file.
